


on the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a gadget that could blow up New Guinea

by snsk



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blame Ben Whishaw, Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Dinner, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Schmoop, nothing but fluff, shameless fluff, the inevitablility of Christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q (accidentally) brings Bond home for Christmas dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a gadget that could blow up New Guinea

It’s the day before Christmas in M16. Q snatches a dangerous exploding device from Bond and tells him that being injured and off duty gives him no excuse to come into Q’s workspace and mess up his stuff. Bond gives him puppy eyes. Q reminds himself that those sad blue eyes have watched people being tortured to agony without blinking. It doesn’t work and he gives Bond his dangerous exploding device back. It’s almost Christmas after all. He half expects Bond to bark in ecstasy. But Bond just grins at him and proclaims to the world that miracle of miracles! it does have a heart.

 The hallways of M16 are decked out in holly and tinsel and mistletoe and overplayed carols drift into Q’s workspace whenever somebody opens the door because even secret government intelligence agencies made up of killers and spies don’t want their minions to forget that last Christmas Mariah Carey gave someone her heart but the very next day had unfortunately found it given away. Q grumbles about decreased productivity and lost trains of thought after the third time he finds himself humming it under his breath and Bond tells him Scrooges get younger and younger each year. Q glares at him and informs him that he could be forcibly ejected from where he’s sitting, he’s sure there’s a button for that somewhere.

Bond just hums and smirks at him because he’s not as adequately threatened as he should obviously be, he’s got a death wish that’s what he has.

White Christmas starts playing and evening falls and Bond looks up from the flashy silver gun he’s inspecting and asks Q if he’s got plans. Q tells him about the family dinner he’s thinking of skipping out on on the basis that an insane super-villain is terrorising Queen and country (the same excuse he used on Thanksgiving) and asks Bond if he’d like to come to help him drink up all the eggnog. He _really_ isn’t expecting Bond to say he’d love to meet his family. He most certainly doesn’t expect him to not look like he’s joking.

Q can’t really say no now because god knows Bond’s got nowhere else to go (really double-ohs’ files shouldn’t be that easy to hack into) so he asks if Bond quite understands the concept of a family Christmas dinner and the Undercurrents that undercut it. Bond goddamn him simply shrugs and says it’d be a nice change from previous Christmasses  and really what are you supposed to reply to that and Q is ninety-five percent sure he said that on purpose, the sneaky bastard.

Anyway they take the subway and then a taxi and it’s strange to see Bond like this, holding on to the subway pole like he can’t kill half the people in this compartment with his shoelace and sitting beside Q making small talk about the snow and Q’s family and then opening the door and charming the pants off Q’s mother like he’s known her forever, what a beautiful house this is and he can see where Q gets his intelligence.

Q introduces Bond as James Bond, his- and then flounders for words like a bloody teenage girl while Brenda smirks and Aunt Anna raises a polite eyebrow and Mother nods knowingly and winks at Q as if to say it’s quite all right son, I am a Progressive Mother who Gets with the Times and Q wonders how he got from thinking he could avoid this to the Highway of Hell he’s currently travelling. However Bond saves Q’s arse and fills in the blanks with “workmate”. Brenda says “Sure” disbelievingly so Q kicks her as he passes her to get to the living room.

Grandpa is watching It’s A Wonderful Life on tv and Bond goes over to join him, they get on like a house on fire and Q would make a snark about the reason being how they’re the closest in age but he’s still pretty grateful to Bond so he leaves them to it and goes to talk to Brenda who says, “Yum- _my_ ,” and ignores Q’s devout protestations about how no it’s not like that for god’s sake Brenda. She tells Q that she’s got eyes and can see the way the hot piece of ass looks at Q so it’s no use lying to her and then leaves Q with a pat on the head and the fervent desire for the brandy that’s the only kind of alcohol he sees lying about.

At dinner Father asks about Bond’s work and Q stares at his plate and wonders how this is only the first course and hopes to god Bond doesn’t say anything uncouth like I slice open jugular veins for a living, but Bond is remarkably smooth which Q shouldn’t be that surprised at and answers with a well-practised not-lie about gathering intelligence for the government. Father nods thoughtfully, spearing his fish and Q is extremely certain he’s in a low-rated unaired episode of Downton Abbey. And then it all goes to hell in a handbasket because Uncle Alfie makes an uncalled-for comment about Brenda’s new chosen profession (this year it’s scriptwriter) which Brenda does not take well (she never does) and it’s the War of the Roses again and they’re off, and Mother says  she’s read some of Brenda’s work and it’s actually pretty good and Uncle Alfie says ‘good’ won’t provide for her family and Grandpa (who adores Brenda) tells them to leave the girl alone and Father and Lisa say she’ll never earn a living like that, she’ll end up on the streets and Q is of the opinion that she can do whatever makes her happy and belatedly realises that Bond’s pretty new to this and turns to him and he looks kind of overwhelmed. Which. Bond never looks overwhelmed.

So Q thanks his family for dinner, he’ll see them tomorrow and darts an apologetic look at Brenda but cuts and runs, because Bond never looks like he needs protecting but Q’s family does that to people, even ruthless serial killers apparently. Grandpa tells Q he’s a nice young man, which Q appreciates and Mother whispers into Q’s ear as he leaves, Does he make you happy? Q thinks about it, thinks for a moment longer than he normally would and whispers back, Yes, because even if Q’s stuck in the mires of hopeless unrequited longing Bond still makes his life brighter sharper (more dangerous) than it was before, and before it was lonely, and now it’s less because Bond understands what it’s like to be alone and responsible and different and angry. They walk the icy streets of Q’s childhood neighbourhood with their coats and scarves and the snow falls heavy, pure patches of cold from the sky and Q apologises for his family but feels the need to add I told you so.

“You love them,” Bond says and it’s not a question. Q does. Q’s never been a proper part of them, a parallel line alongside their upper class straight arrows (Brenda’s simply perpendicular) and they’ve never understood him and they’ve never really tried to but he believes that they care for him, and he loves them. He always has.

“They terrified you,” he says instead, amused because he’s seen Bond outnumbered fifty to one, facing multiple terrorists who were armed with numerous machine guns and/or assault rifles and not blink an eye but at dinner he seemed to be hiding behind his filet mignon.

“I thought they were going to make me give an opinion,” Bond confesses. “That I could not have dealt with.”

The subway back is quiet but comfortable until carollers get on at a stop, completely butchering O Holy Night and Q finds himself wishing for the chipmunks’ painful rendition of Jingle Bells he hears a total of four times a day in the lead up to the 25th. His displeasure must be obvious in his face because Bond reminds him that even the Grinch started having doubts about Christmas right about now.

They reach Q’s apartment and the snow’s still falling, soft and quiet and the traffic is a familiar noisy backdrop and red and green lights are glowing all around them and Q wonders if this Christmas isn’t going to be so bad this year. They stand outside watching cars zoom by on the highway in the distance and Bond appears to be patiently waiting for something, and Q can’t tell what it is until it hits him like a two by four that he’d brought Bond home for Christmas.

“I brought you home for Christmas,” he says because he’s got to confirm this hypothesis first before this experiment ends in tears and shame for them- well, for Q.

“You did,” Bond reassures him and he doesn’t know how it happens but Bond’s got a hand on his cheek, under his muffler and is kissing him and it’s like all the cliché horrible tug-at-your-heartstrings late-night Christmas Eve flicks Q’s ever watched but right now he doesn’t know why he judged them, Bond tastes of brandy and candy canes(?) and not being alone and the fabric of his glove is warm against Q’s skin.

Q asks if Bond wants to come in (if by asking one refers to dumbfoundedly pointing at one’s apartment) and Bond murmurs I thought you’d never ask, and Q laughs suddenly because of course he’s spending the holidays with a M16’s best, most terrifying blunt weapon and he tugs Bond inside and closes the door behind them.

It’s Christmas Day and Bond’s as happy as a kid at – well, Christmas because of course this is the day he’s allowed back on-duty again, and he’s ecstatic because he’s got a death wish, indeed he has. He breezes through his medical and psychological examination and ends up back at Q’s workspace where Q sends him off with a Walther PPK and a radio and an exploding pen he’s spent the last few weeks designing. Because it’s Christmas. And Bond’s eyes light up and Q tries to ignore the adolescent flutter this sends through him but it’s unsuccessful because Bond catches him up in a toe-curling, hard warm kiss that turns the flutter into the wing-beating of a thousand dizzy birds, and leaves.

Q spends the day listening to 12 Days of Christmas and worrying and realises he's turned into his mother, except the sharp silver something in his hand isn't a spatula.

Later, after work he goes back to his parents’ house. Brenda asks where James is and Q says on-duty and some of his worry must manifest in his face because she says, He’ll be back soon, and pats his arm and Q nods, and realises he really does love his insane sister. That realisation backtracks a few seconds later when she says in a voice that’s entirely too loud for both their parents being a few metres away, “Is that a _hickey_?”

When he goes back to his empty apartment that night there’s a painting hanging in the hallway, it’s of a bloody big ship being tugged away to a dockyard and it makes Q smile and it makes Q sleep, even if the worry doesn’t abate an inch. There are still eleven days left to go, and Bond will be back soon.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Direct any and all complaints to Ben Whishaw's face, which has apparently robbed me of the ability to write anything serious but Srs Odes To His Hair. Unbeta'd and un-Britpicked (Thanksgiving and subways were pointed out to me, thank you Courtney), so all mistakes are - his fault as well. Somehow. Bloody baby deers. Comments are always appreciated.


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